It's 2am and I'm walking down this street of steady rain.
It's times like these I believe my lone companion is this
And these voices descend from somewhere, maybe
From an alley or underground... and these voices
They come on strong... and almost sound like
The rumbling of a storm...
Sometimes it rains in voices, or it sleets in stinging
Noises. Sometimes it rains from the eyes of strangers
Or it drizzles from the sly lips of dealers, calling out:
"I got those nickels! I got those dimes!
Got that freak cure to make a blind man
But we melting-pot people, we just keep on walking
While the night's demon song keeps on taunting us
Inside this New York City rain...
Tonight, I'm ignoring the whoring of painted-up Lolita's...
Tonight, I'm passing by these lonely cries of beaten down beggars.
Tonight, I'm passing by a idling man muttering "Michelangelo"
Inside the cracked and stained glass within the chemical chapel
of his mind...